flowers

Final DispositionOthers divided closets full of mother's things.From the earth, I took her poppies.I wanted those fandango foldsof red and black chiffon she doted on,loving the wild and Moorish music of them,coating her tongue with the thin skinof their crimson petals.Snapping her fingers, flamenco dancer,she'd mock the clack of castanetsin answer to their gypsy cadence.She would crouch toward the flounce of flowers,twirl, stamp her foot, then kick it outas if to lift the ruffles, scarletalong the hemline of her yard.And so, I dug up, soil and all,the thistle-toothed and gray-green clumpsof leaves, the testicle seedpods and hairy stemsboth out of season, to transplant them in my less-exotic garden. There, they bloomher blood's abandon, year after year,roots holding, their poppy heads noddinga carefree, opium-ecstatic, possibly forever sleep.

I love humanity, which has been a constant delight to me during all my seventy-seven years of life; and I love flowers, trees, animals, and all the works of Nature as they pass before us in time and space. What a joy life is when you have made a close working partnership with Nature, helping her to produce for the benefit of mankind new forms, colors, and perfumes in flowers which were never known before; fruits in form, size, and flavor never before seen on this globe; and grains of enormously increased productiveness, whose fat kernels are filled with more and better nourishment, a veritable storehouse of perfect food__ew food for all the world's untold millions for all time to come.

Flowers carry not only beauty but also the silent song of love. You just have to feel it.

Be a tree of love and let it bloom with flowers of happiness.

The calla lilies are in bloom again. Such a strange flower__uitable to any occasion. I carried them on my wedding day, and now I place them here in memory of something that has died.

It is spring, let us dance and dream with flowers. Let us sing and enjoy the trees.

Nature suffers the most but never complains. Flowers never forget to bloom and beautify the world.

Flowers are the smiles of earth inviting you to enjoy the beauty of love.

When you love nature, it always loves you back with the fragrance of flowers.

The more I love, the more flowers bloom in my heart.

It is education that grows flowers in innocent minds to reveal beauty.

How is it you can talk so nicely?' Alice said, hoping to get it into a better temper by a compliment. 'I've been in many gardens before, but none of the flowers could talk.''Put your hand down, and feel the ground,' said the Tiger-lily. 'Then you'll know why.'Alice did so. 'It's very hard,' she said, 'but I don't see what that has to do with it.''In most gardens,' the Tiger-lily said, 'they make the beds too soft - so that the flowers are always asleep.

During Xtha-cka Zhi-ga The-the, the Killer of Flowers Moon. I will wade across the river of the blackfish, the otter, the beaver. I will climb the bank where the willow never dies.

Our love is like a flower.First you need to plant the seeds.Then you give it love, water and nutrients.The you watch it grow and grow.And finally it blossoms to become you.

Louis found me in the rear parlor, the one more distant from the noises of the tourists in the Rue Royale, and with its windows open to the courtyard below. I was in fact looking out the window, looking for the cat again, though I didn't tell myself so, and observing how our bougainvillea had all but covered the high walls that enclosed us and kept us safe from the rest of the world. The wisteria was also fierce in its growth, even reaching out from the brick walls to the railing of the rear balcony and finding its way up to the roof. I could never quite take for granted the lush flowers of New Orleans. Indeed, they filled me with happiness whenever I stopped to really look at them and surrender to their fragrance, as though I still had the right to do so, as though I still were part of nature, as though I were still a mortal man.

... from the classically executed lifelike bouquets, tempting you to reach for the petals that fell on a three-dimensional tablecloth, to a new and disturbing style in which the colors seemed to blaze with such intensity they destroyed the old lines, the old solidity, to make a vision like those states which I'm nearest my delirium and flowers grow before my eyes and crackle like the flames of lamps.

I won't regret, because you can grow flowers where dirt used to be.

There is much to be said for cherry blossoms, but they seem so flighty. They are so quick to run off and leave you. And then just when your regrets are the strongest the wisteria comes into bloom, and it blooms on into the summer. There is nothing quite like it. Even the color is somehow companionable and inviting.